


I'd Be Home With You

by winterkill



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Age Difference, Domestic Fluff, F/M, I will fill the tag for this ship myself!, The Florence Nightingale Effect, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterkill/pseuds/winterkill
Summary: Rita wants a space that's hers; she wants to be there long enough to put her clothes in a wardrobe, to buy plates, to pile the living room with mountains of books and inevitably trip over them. Rita/Raven.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If this pairing has a trope, it's Rita fixing Raven's hermes blastia. This is my take on it, such that it is. It's split into three parts and is complete, so no worries about it being abandoned.

Four years after the Adaphagos, Rita decides to buy a house. She doesn't need one, not really--she has a room at the Brave Vesperia guild headquarters and a room at the palace that is de facto hers. She travels a lot of the time, too, and whether it's for the empire or the guilds, she never lacks accommodations.

Time passes and before she knows it, she's been living out of a suitcase for years. It's not that she values material possessions; when her house in Aspio had been destroyed, she spared only a passing thought for all her research and notes before deciding she was brilliant enough to redo it all, even better this time. Living out of a suitcase wasn't that bad, either.

A few months after her eighteenth birthday, though, she suddenly finds herself with an abundance of free time. She's been in Zaphias for three weeks and hasn't been summoned outside the city even once.

For the first time, Rita feels like a guest in her usual room in the palace. She spends an entire morning staring at the ceiling above her bed, discomfited, before it dawns on her: she wants a space that's hers; she wants to be there long enough to put her clothes in a wardrobe, to buy plates, to pile the living room with mountains of books and inevitably trip over them.

* * *

It takes her months to get around to it, but Yuri is the first person she tells. It's not particularly intentional; he’s the next person she sees whom she cares to tell.

“Where are you thinking?” is Yuri’s first question.

Rita replies with a vague, “Umm,” and Yuri laughs. She hadn't actually gotten that far in her plan.

“I don't think I want to own property in Dahngrest, and there's my room at the guild for when I’m there.” It’s another thing Rita won't admit, but she likes that's there's always one of her friends in Dahngrest, even if it's usually Karol or Raven.

“How about Capua Torim?”

That's actually a solid idea, not that she will admit it to Yuri. It’s far away but not too far away.

And that's how she ends up spending an afternoon looking at houses with Yuri. She's glad to have someone with her because she quickly realizes she has no idea what she is looking for. Unfortunately, Yuri is no better.

“You think people from the Lower Quarter are picky about kitchen cabinets and siding paint? We're happy to have a roof that doesn't leak.”

“No, I--who cares about any of this?! It's all stupid!” She raises her hands in frustration and yells loud enough that the realtor turns around, offended. Yuri is doubled over laughing, hands on his thighs.

There's two more afternoons of the torture before Rita sees the one. She had no idea what she wants until she is standing in front of the door, but when the realtor unlocks it she just knows.

It's small, one story with two bedrooms in the back. The kitchen is tiny but Rita can't make anything edible, so it doesn't matter. A tiny stove can burn bland, lumpy food as well as a big one. What really sells it is the basement though, a single, open room with wood plank flooring.

Yuri sees her eyes light up and guesses right on the first try, “Envisioning a lab down here?”

“Yes!” She was already dividing the space up in her mind, where to put her books and a desk and equipment.

“Better get her a good insurance policy in case she blows the place up.”

Rita is so excited that she forgets to glare at him.

* * *

For a long time, Raven’s first thought most mornings was how long did Alexei plan for me to live? The hermes blastia in his chest had been there for fourteen years now--four without Alexei to maintain it; he’d been a walking dead man for over a decade.

Raven usually manages to avoid thinking too hard. There's just so much to do. There were dozens of corrupt imperial officials to oust, guilds to restructure, and infrastructure projects in every facet of society. He floats between projects: leading the old Schwann brigade on missions (never, ever donning his old uniform and constantly correcting his name) and doing odd-jobs for Brave Vesperia. He goes where he's needed and falls into bed at night, wherever the bed happens to be, bone-tired.

The endless tide of work can't continue forever, though. It's a good change--it means that people are finding stability. It terrifies him because he doesn't know what he'll do with himself when the flow of work ebbs. It doesn't leave much time for introspection, which he is grateful for. How much thinking does a dead man who's on his third life need to do, anyway?

* * *

It turns out that the price on the house is reasonable, and the owner is happy to get rid of it. Rita signs a million papers, bored to tears with bureaucracy before it's over with.

The house is hers at the end of it all, though.

Estelle helps her decorate, and Rita let's her have at it. Wonderful Estelle, who has opinions on pillows and rug colors, none of which Rita cares about. All she knows is that she doesn't own a single piece of furniture or as much as a spoon and needs all of it.

“Just...keep it simple,” she tells Estelle before they go into the first store, already exhausted. It turns out that shopping with a princess has its benefits; prices are slashed and delivery fees waived, and all Rita has to do is grunt “yes” or “no” until Estelle holds up two identically blue plates.

“Estelle, they're identical.”

It's Estelle who looks exhausted now; there's a frustrated crease between her eyebrows. “They’re not; this one is robin's egg,” she wiggles the plate in her left hand, “and this one is called summer sky.”

“The human eye can't even detect that distinction!”

Estelle is smiling again, “We’ll go with summer sky, then.”

* * *

Raven does his best to not think about the blastia that functions as his heart. Even now, years after Alexei is dead and gone, he keeps it covered--a thick enough shirt covers the glow and he can't remember the last time he went swimming. Some of it is habit--Alexei ordered him to never show it to anyone, and the rest is a pervasive self-consciousness of its very existence. The blastia is a reminder that he died on that battlefield; it's a reminder that, though he was given a second life, it was not a gift but a burden.

The pointed ignoring of the blastia is probably why he doesn't notice something is wrong immediately. Raven feels winded at first, which isn't that surprising, his back aches if he has to sleep on the ground, and he has to think about how much alcohol he drinks, but it's worse than usual. He's moving some newly-delivered supplies around the guild headquarters and has to sit down on the stair landing.

It's a bit hard to breathe, and Raven wipes sweat from his brow with a sleeve. Karol, carrying a box taller than his head, doesn't see that Raven has stopped and nearly trips over him.

“Raven?” Karol's concerned face appears around the side of the box.

“Sorry, Karol, the old man needs to sit for a spell.” Raven takes another deep breath and leans against the bannister. Aging is brutal.

Karol places his own box on top of Raven’s and looks down. He’s grown nearly a foot in the last few years and towers over a seated Raven. “You okay?”

Raven nods, “Yeah, just winded.”

Skepticism is written all over Karol’s face, but he doesn't say anything. Instinctively, Raven raises his right hand to cover the blastia and yelps, pulling his hand away and shaking it.

“The blastia’s hot?” Karol guesses, kneeling down beside Raven and reaching his hand out. Raven stiffens, and Karol notices, pulling his hand back. “I can feel the heat coming off it. Your shirt is gonna catch fire at this rate.”

The winded feeling is worse, now, and he feels light-headed. “Sorry, kid, not sure I can finish this job right now.”

“Has this happened before?”

“I’ve been gettin’ winded pretty easily, but I thought it was just age. The blastia’s never been this hot, though.” Raven shrugs; he feels oddly disconnected from the event, despite it being his body. Karol’s eyes widen; he must think Raven should be more concerned with his own mortality.

“Raven,” there’s a hand on his shoulder this time “go see Rita, please. She's the only one who can help.”

“I’m sure it's nothin’.” Raven shrugs; Karol looks even more appalled.

“Please,” Karol repeats, and Raven finally nods.

He leaves for Capua Torim first thing in the morning.

* * *

Raven has to stop three times from the port on his way to Rita’s house--the address of which Karol scribbled on a sheet of paper. By the time he reaches her door and knocks, beads of sweat are dripping down his face, and the blastia feels like it's going to whir it's way out of his chest.

“Raven?” Rita flings her front door open and stares him down for several seconds, “why are you here?”

She doesn't sound mad to see him, just curious.

“C-can’t an old man call on a pretty lady without an agenda?” Raven aims for nonchalant, but it falls flat when he's so out of breath.

“Yeah, but not you.”

She's wearing shorts, a tank top, and kerchief around her head. Cleaning? Unpacking? Getting punched might kill him in this state, so he looks beyond her into the front door; there are boxes stacked everywhere.

The skin around the blastia aches now from the heat it's producing. He can't bring himself to prolong the conversation anymore, “Rita darlin', my blastia--”

Her green eyes widen in recognition, and she wraps her fingers around his bicep. Her hands are small, but her grip is strong. “You idiot! Why didn't you just say so?!”

* * *

Rita’s house is a mess of boxes and book piles. “We’re going downstairs,” she explains as they wind their way to a stairway.

The downstairs is a mess, too, but it's got an organized chaos to it, like her workshop at the guild headquarters. This is where she’d spent her time unpacking. There’s a long table that is mostly clear, and Rita swipes a pile of papers onto the floor.

“On your back, old man.” She produces goggles from somewhere and pulls them on her head.

A joke is on the tip of Raven’s tongue, but he thinks better of it. He does as Rita asks and lies back on the table with his legs dangling off the edge at the knee. He's doing just fine until Rita leans over him and goes to unbutton the top of his shirt.

Raven flinches when Rita touches him and, suddenly, it's not her, but Alexei, and he's not in Rita’s warm lab but on a different table, much colder and fuck, fuck he's panicking. He can feel the bile crawling up his throat, and he wants to sit up but can't make his body do it. The metal surrounding the blastia core burns hotter. Rita hisses in pain and pulls her hand away. He isn't sure how many seconds pass until he hears Rita's panic-laced voice calling his name and feels a hard slap across his cheek. It hurts, and Raven’s eyes water from the pain.

“What the hell, old man?!”

“You--you slapped me!” He turns his head away from her and scrubs at his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing.

“I called out over and over--you were gone. I couldn't think of anything else!”

Raven manages to sit up this time. His chest aches, and he can see his singed shirt out of the corner of his eye. Looking at Rita is impossible, so he looks at his hands. So fucking embarrassing.

“Talk to me,” it's a demand, not a request, “this needs fixed, and I can't do it if that happens.”

“Alexei,” a single word is all Raven manages to grind out, hoping it will be enough for Rita. She crosses her arms and taps her bare foot against the wood floor.

More is needed, then.

“There was a table,” Raven tries again, “I--”

Rita holds up a hand, cutting him off. She looks frazzled, and he feels guilty for inflicting this on her. “Was Alexei the last person to look at the blastia?” Raven nods. Rita looks appalled. “That was years ago, you idiot. It's no wonder it's giving you trouble.” Rita’s tone is irritated but her eyes are kind, “Sitting up is fine. If something bothers you, don't be an idiot and tell me.”

He looks at her and swallows a couple times before responding, “Thanks.”

She grabs a pair of gloves off the table and pulls her goggles back down. “Alright, here I go.”

And it's better this time. Rita pushes his charred shirt aside, pulls up the blastia formula, and scans through it. Raven can see the code reflected in her goggles. “It needs re-calibrated; it's overheating. I can't tell if it's because no one has performed any maintenance in four years, or if it's because--” she pauses, uncharacteristically searching for a delicate way to state the obvious.

“...Alexei didn't need me to live this long,” Raven finishes. Rita flinches a bit, and Raven shrugs like he hadn't just had a panic attack in her lab.

“I think I can make it run more efficiently,” Rita moves on, “It will take a bit to do, though, and I need to monitor it.”

Raven nods.

“And you, idiot, need to rest. You are the only person ever to have a hermes blastia for a heart, so I have nothing to go on.”

Rita takes her gloves off and inspects the scar tissue around the blastia. It's running cooler now, but the skin is still red. She digs around in a box and produces a salve. Raven barely stops himself from groaning as she rubs it in. It's cooling and has nothing to do with Rita’s deft fingers.

“Thanks, Rita darlin’, really.”

Rita blushes when their eyes meet and presses the jar into his hands. “You're not an invalid, so here, once a day.”

“Yes ma'am.”

“There’s a second bedroom upstairs. It's still got some boxes, but there's a bed.” Rita turns to go up the stairs, “Stay, until I figure out the blastia. I can't have you collapsing in the streets like an idiot.”

* * *

And Raven does stay.

Rita likes her space, waking up in the morning at whatever time she wants, not having to wait for the bathroom. It's not that she wants to be perpetually alone, but she finds value in the solitude. She surprised after a few days that Raven’s presence doesn't grate on her. Raven is pleasant company. It's not that Rita didn't know he could be, but she has never spent so much time with him one-on-one.

The first morning, Rita stumbles into the kitchen, never a morning person, and finds coffee and toast placed on the table.

“Wha?” she's still bleary-eyed.

“It's breakfast, darlin’.”

She rubs her eyes, finds the mug handle, and takes a sip. Raven is wearing her apron, a gift from Estelle. It's pink. Two plates of eggs appear on the table, and Raven joins her. The eggs are good, fluffy and not too dry. The caffeine starts to kick in, and Rita’s ready to try making conversation.

“Why are you cooking me breakfast, old man?”

Raven shrugs and takes a bite of toast, “Consider it a 'thanks’. Also, I’ve eaten your cookin’ before.”

And it's bad, Raven doesn't add, but it's implied. Rita would be offended if it wasn't objectively a fact.

“Wouldn't want you to die from food poisoning before I fix your blastia.”

Raven laughs.

There’s a routine to their days after that. Raven cooks, and Rita actually enjoys eating for once. Her house is still a mess, so Raven helps her unpack books and research notes and find homes for all the things Estelle insisted Rita needed. They go shopping together for food, and Raven is a decent lab assistant. More than once, Rita has to scold him for trying to pick up something heavy.

After lunch, Rita checks the blastia, testing different configurations and making notes. She’s cautious on the second day, afraid that Raven will panic again. He doesn't, but his fingers grip the edge of the table too-tightly, and the readings on the blastia spike. Rita is overcome with a desire to comfort him.

“Hey,” she starts, it’s clunky, and she wishes for Estelle's natural empathy, “it’s okay.” It’s the shittiest platitude, so Rita places a hand over Raven's where he grips the table and tries to exude calmness.

Raven smiles at her, and the blastia reading levels off.

* * *

Karol decides to head to Capua Torim and check on Raven. It's been a few days; if Raven was dead, someone would have told him, unless it was Rita who murdered him for being a pervert. He imagines strange scenarios the entire trip and is relieved to finally reach Rita's door. The amount of time between him ringing the bell and hearing footsteps is an age, and he shuffles from one foot to the other, anxious. When the door does opens, it’s Raven and he's wearing a pink apron.

“Hey, kid!”

“Who’s it?” Rita’s voice comes from further in the house.

“It's Karol!” Raven calls back, turning his head just a bit.

Rita appears next, ducking under Raven's arm where it rests on the door frame. “Hey, Karol.”

“Wanna eat lunch with us?”

“Um, sure?”

Karol follows them inside and is ushered into the kitchen. Rita plops down in a chair across from him, and Raven goes back to the counter. Sandwiches appear on the table, and Raven sits down next to Rita.

“Raven, how are you feeling?”

“Well, I'm not about to catch fire,” Raven answers before taking a bite of chicken salad.

Rita chimes in next, “I had to redo some stuff, no big deal, but it needs monitored for a bit.”

Ah, so that’s why Raven was still here. Karol is glad to hear that he isn't inches away from death, though. They eat and chat, catching up. Karol sees Raven frequently, but Rita much less so. She teases him for his height, and Karol blushes. It's not like he doesn't know that he's grown a foot.

Rita is recounting a story of shopping with Estelle for curtains, complete with hand gestures. The story is involved, and once Rita starts, there's no space to interject for several moments. It gives Karol an unfiltered moment to watch Raven watching Rita. Raven told him once, years ago, how to watch for non-verbal cues into someone's mood. Karol frequently got what he wanted out of negotiations with the other guilds; he felt a bit guilty for turning the skill back on Raven.

Raven is turned in his chair toward Rita and is definitely watching her tell her story. He rests his chin on his hand at one point and leans in, just a bit. Raven teases her about something, and Rita blushes, but doesn't hit him. Karol listens and laughs at what he hopes are the right spots, but he is completely distracted by their interactions. There's a weird undercurrent here, an easy intimacy that he feels like he’s intruding on.

He excuses himself after lunch, and Raven walks him to the door.

“Hold the fort down for me 'til I get back,” Raven claps Karol on the back.

“I-I will,” Karol tries to sound normal, “I’m glad you're okay. Don't come back until Rita gives you the all-clear.”

Weird interactions aside, Rita is the only one who can make sure Raven stays alive. He looks at Raven one more time, trying to decide if he looks healthy.

Raven waves as Karol walks down the front steps, “See ya, kid!”

Lunch replays in Karol's mind, and he decides to go to Zaphias and find Yuri.

* * *

“I need to open it up.”

They're sitting on opposite ends of her couch when Rita breaks the silence. Raven is tucked against the arm, and Rita is sprawled sideways over the rest of it. Her bare feet don't quite reach Raven's thigh.

Raven looks up from his book, “You mean the blastia?”

Rita nods, shuffling the notes on her lap into some semblance of order, “You’ve been fine for the last week because you’ve been doing minimal physical activity. If you need to run, or fight, or anything...rigorous, the problem will come back.”

“Well, I can't have my rigorous activities impeded, darlin'.” He winks dramatically.

She makes a disgusted noise and kicks him in the leg, “Pervert.”

“Just tryin’ to bring some levity to the situation.”

The thought of anyone opening the blastia up, even Rita, who is both extremely competent and someone he trusts, makes him break out in a cold sweat. Raven doesn't remember the actual procedure when the blastia was installed, but he acutely remembers the pain afterwards. Nothing pleasant ever came from Alexei touching the blastia.

Rita shifts, putting her notes on the coffee table and scooting across the couch until she's on her knees next to him. She's noticed his shift in demeanor. “I’m really good at this.” Only Rita could make egotism sound like reassurance. It works though--her confidence in herself makes him confident, too.

“If it has to be done, you're the one to do it.”

Rita doesn't mention that she's probably the only one who can. Instead, she leans closer and puts a hand on Raven's shoulder. She’s smiling, and Raven can't help but smile back.

“Let's do this, old man, first thing tomorrow.”

* * *

“I think there's something going on between Rita and Raven.”

Karol isn't sure how to broach the subject, so he blurts it out the next time he sees Yuri a couple days later.

“What?”

Yuri's expression reads total non-comprehension, like Karol has put together a string of words no one has ever heard before.

“I told Raven to go visit her for his blastia, but it's been over a week, and he's still there.”

The situation coalesces in Yuri's mind until he finally looks like he's ready to reply, “No way.”

Yuri sounds so absolute that Karol is taken aback for a few seconds. He hadn't accused Karol of lying, but there seems to be no uncertainty that Karol is misinterpreting what he saw.

“No, there's something,” he's unsure what he can do that will convince Yuri, “I ate lunch with them, and Rita didn't even get angry at Raven's perverted jokes.”

That seems to carry some weight for Yuri, who crosses his arms and leans against the wall. “Do we need to intervene?”

There's an edge to Yuri's tone that makes Karol almost regret telling him. “N-no! I didn't say it was a bad thing. If Rita's happy--.”

“It's definitely a bad thing.”

* * *

“You’re gonna have to be on your back for this.”

“If that's how ya’d like it,” Raven quips back, oozing suggestiveness, and Rita scoffs.

“If you can flirt through this, that's a good sign.”

Raven laughs but doesn't move from where he's seated at the edge of the table. His shirt is off and Rita is trying to be professional. She tries not to let her eyes linger on the nice tan of his skin or surprisingly well-defined muscles. Raven’s still smiling, and her stomach flip flops.

Ugh, hormones. Now was not the time. She keeps telling herself that Raven is old and a pervert. Later, she could unpack and analyze her entire reaction, but now she needed focus.

Raven lies down, and Rita tries to gauge his expression. “So, I don't want a repeat of last time.” After, she realizes how insensitive she sounds, but Raven chuckles.

“Ya could concuss me.”

“ _No_.”

“I know ya can throw a solid punch, though.”

Rita makes a frustrated scoff, “Don't joke now, of all times.”

“I’ll be fine, really. This is...different, and I'm prepared.” Raven eyes follow her as she gathers her tools. He looks so vulnerable.

Shit.

Why is he trying to calm her down?

She tries not to imagine Raven dying on the table in her basement and has to clasp her hands together to stop them from shaking. Dealing with feeling overwhelmed isn't her speciality. Rita pulls her goggles down--no point stalling. The repair itself wasn't complicated in theory, but she'd never done it on a blastia attached to a person. There's no room for trial and error. She hopes Raven doesn't notice how unsteady she is as she pops the cover of the blastia and leans over it.

To Raven's credit, he doesn't panic this time.

* * *

Rita can do this.

Raven tells himself that on repeat; it keeps him from outright panicking. He’s shocked to realize that he fears death for the first time in over a decade--each time with Alexei he'd hoped for some malfunction that would end it all.

He can't see Rita’s expression, obscured behind her goggles. Watching her work seemed like a good idea at first, but the tension of it is too much, and he closes his eyes--maybe it's better not to know what's going on. He can't feel Rita touching the blastia, but occasionally there's a bump or some pressure. There's a scraping noise that makes Raven open his eyes again.

“S-sorry.” Rita apologizes, pushing up her goggles. Her mouth is a tight line. If moving wasn't incredibly ill-advised, Raven would try and find some way to comfort her.

“I'm still breathing, aren't I?” he replies instead.

Rita pales before sliding her goggles back down, “Don't jinx it.”

The passage of time is distorted; it could be ten minutes or an hour before he feels the pressure of the blastia cover being replaced. Raven takes a deep breath, tries to determine if it feels different. He opens his eyes in time to see Rita pull her goggles down around her neck. Her bangs are wet with sweat.

“F-fuck.”

Raven props himself up on his elbows and sees that Rita's hands are shaking. She falls forward, sweat-damp forehead landing on his shoulder near the blastia.

“You okay?”

Rita moves her head against his skin, a clear no. She's still shaking. He looks down at the crown of her head.

“Am I okay?”

She nods this time, and Raven lets out a deep breath. He sits up and swings his legs so they hang off the table. It dislodges Rita, and Raven gets a glimpse of her expression.

She's crying.

Rita's tears paralyze him for a moment before he pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her torso. He forgets that he’s shirtless, and Rita's tank top means there's more contact than he's expecting. She’s warm, and she fits. Rita's arms are trapped between them, at first; Raven loosens his grip enough that she can return the embrace. Her hands are warm on his back.

“It's okay,” Raven tries, hopes it's accurate.

“That was terrifying,” Rita’s words are muffled into his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Her grip tightens a bit, and she takes a couple deep breaths. Raven doesn't want to let go. There's a million problems with that, but there it is. Time passes, and Rita doesn't pull away. Raven rubs a circle between her shoulder blades. He can't tell if she's still crying.

“Thanks.” The word is said into her hair.

She pulls back enough to be able to look at him. Her green eyes are watery, and her cheeks are blotchy. Raven wants to kiss her, in that moment, and he doesn't want to dwell on why he wants to. Wanting something is a good feeling.

Would Rita punch him?

He's about to find out when Rita grabs his face and does it for him.

* * *

It's not that Rita doesn't know what she's thinking when she kisses Raven, it's that she's not thinking anything at all. The instant before she closes the distance between them, she presses her hand against the blastia and tries to swallow the lump in their throat. Everything was okay; she had fixed it, and it was fine.

The desperation doesn't abate, though, and she wants confirmation of something, even if she can't call it by name. Rita's fingers dig into his skin; he doesn't wince, though. Raven is a statue for a moment. Rita's about to pull away and say something, anything, but the moment passes, and then Raven returns the kiss. The adrenaline wipes her mind clean of rational thought.

Air is needed, eventually, and Rita presses her face to Raven's neck to avoid looking at him. Her heart is racing and blood pounds in her ears. Raven's grip is firm, bordering on painful, and she finds she doesn't mind, even welcomes it. If he can hold onto her that tightly it means she didn't fuck up and let him die on her worktable.

“Rita--” Raven tries, and Rita moves her head to look him the eye.

“I could have killed you,” she whispers, each word feels like it's ripped out of her. He gathers her closer until she's settled between his knees. His grip on her loosens, and Rita misses the force behind it.

“But you didn't,” Raven responds before Rita kisses him again. She can't bear to hear him comfort her, even if he means well. Raven doesn't speak again and falls in step with her when she slides her hands down his chest, avoiding the blastia this time.

Want she wants, needs, coalesces. A fear of rejection slices through her desire for contact, and she forces herself to look up at Raven again. His expression is unreadable, and he grabs her hands, halting them. She's on the edge of a cliff and wonders, if she pushes, whether he'll follow her over.

“ _Please_ don't say anything sensible.”

Raven swallows whatever he was about to interject and lets go of her hands, silently giving her clearance. A table isn't the most romantic venue, but this isn't about romance. When she holds out her hand, Raven comes to her, and doesn't say a single sensible thing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rita and Raven deal with a bad case of feelings, and Karol wishes he'd never said anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's part two. The number of kudos and hits on the first part made me SO happy!

“They’re like...weird roommates.”

Karol’s assessment of the situation makes Judith chuckle as she sips her iced tea. It's mid-afternoon, and the cafe is mostly empty. The fact that everyone except the two people they’re meeting about happen to be in Zaphias is fortuitous.

“How so?” Estelle asks. “I feel so out of the loop.”

“Karol, start at the beginning,” says Yuri.

So Karol does. He tells them about Raven's blastia, sending him to Rita, and going to check on him. “I ate lunch with them,” he ends with, “and their body language was just...weird. He made us sandwiches and flirted with Rita, and she didn't hit him _once._ You should’ve seen Raven's expression while she was telling a story--it was all... _mushy_.”

Judith’s interest is palpable, and she leans over the table as Karol speaks, “Do tell me more.” She's too close, and Karol feels his cheeks heat up.

“I visited Rita the other day too, and no one answered when I knocked.”

“Yuri, how is that more?!” Estelle looks like she's warring between concern and interest.

“He picked the lock,” Judith guesses, and Yuri grins.

“ _Yuri_!” Both Estelle and Karol say simultaneously.

“What? Karol’s story got me wondering,” he shrugs.

“Well, since you already _broke into Rita's house_ , you might as well tell us.”

“I _think_ I might have interrupted something.” There's some irritation in Yuri's tone that Karol doesn't miss and wonders, not for the first time, if he should have told Yuri at all.

“Were they in bed together?” Judith guesses, and everyone gapes at her.

Yuri reaches to cover Karol's ears and gets his hands slapped away. “I know what sex is!”

“Not in bed, no.” Yuri hadn't seen anything, not explicitly, “I technically didn’t _see_ anything, but I think I interrupted _something_. Rita said she was repairing the blastia. I don't think she was lying, but...”

“You don't...think he's taking advantage of her, do you?” Estelle looks immediately guilty for the implication.

Judith laughs again, a single _ha_ , “Rita would have his balls in a jar if he tried _anything_. Unless she was wanted him, to, of course.”

The idea of Rita initiating _something_ makes Karol pause. “When I was there, the mood was unusual but not bad,” Karol clarifies, “Raven’s been there for like two weeks now.”

“Do you think they’re...involved?” Estelle pauses, searching for the right word.

 _Absolutely_ , Karol thinks but ultimately keeps to himself.

“He's _twice_ her age,” Yuri states the obvious instead. Someone had to say it; they're all thinking it. “I kinda want to go beat the shit out of him.”

“It's unconventional,” Judith chimes in, “but if they're happy.”

Yuri doesn't do much to hide his skepticism.

Estelle rests her chin on her hand, “Why don't we try and talk to her?”

Judith laughs, “Wear something fireproof.”

* * *

If Raven was being technical, Yuri hadn't interrupted anything except him trying to catch Rita before she ran upstairs. However, Yuri _had_ killed the moment where Raven needed to talk to her about what the hell just happened. Rita, who never had much of a poker face, made it pretty evident what transpired. She screamed at Yuri for breaking and entering, but it didn't obscure how out-of-sorts she looked.

“Did Karol ask you to check on me?” he'd asked Yuri when Rita excused herself to her room.

“He made me think there was something worth checking in on.”

Raven wonders if he'll report it to the rest of the group.

Rita is distant with him after that; she checks the blastia after lunch and stays holed up in her lab. Raven tries, twice, to talk to her, and she dodges him both times.

Even before, Raven couldn't lie to himself about developing an attraction to Rita. It was inappropriate on a myriad of levels, and he'd been battling it since the day he showed up on her stoop. It's constant--when she's asleep on the floor in her lab, when she's watching him make breakfast, when she's concentrated on reading her notes. Now, he tries to convince himself that it’s just sex. They'd shared a momentary need, a reaction to an extreme situation, and that was the end of it--it _had_ to be the end of it.

It definitely isn't, though.

He tries to act normal around her, to not disturb their routine anymore than they already have. He sits there, trying to conjure unappealing images and curb his stupid libido. He _wants_ her; it was startling how much after years of general apathy. Every time he looks at Rita he's overcome with a wave of possessiveness.

Raven waits for Rita to tell him to leave, but she never does.

* * *

Rita is more than happy to run screaming out of her own home when Estelle asks her to come to Dahngrest. She and Karol descend upon Rita when she enters Brave Vesperia’s guild headquarters.

“Rita!” Estelle wraps her in a hug before she can even set her bag down. Rita hugs her back. “It's been forever!”

“It's definitely been less than two months,” Rita amends, but she _has_ missed Estelle. The last time they were together was shopping for her house.

“Hey, Karol.” Karol offers her a hand and she grasps it briefly. “Are you taller than you were a couple weeks ago?”

Always easy to tease, Karol’s cheeks turn pink, and Rita laughs, “N-no! People don't grow that fast.”

“How’s Raven?”

Rita knew _someone_ would ask about Raven but sort of hoped she could make it through an hour or two before it happened. Getting away from him had been strategic, and she hoped when she returned things would go back to normal. She'd been avoiding him because she couldn't figure out what to say to him, and his hurt expression as she dodged him felt like a knife in her gut. She ponders telling Estelle, briefly, but doesn't want to expose the whole thing just yet.

“He’s good,” she answers too quickly.

“Still your roommate?” Estelle’s smile has a nosey undercurrent to it, and Rita tries not to fidget.

 “...Yes.”

_Please don't ask for more information._

Estelle relents for a while, and Rita breathes a sigh of relief. She shuts herself in the workshop for the rest of the afternoon. It's dinner time before Estelle finds her again, knocking on the lab door and poking her head in, “Rita! Help me cook.”

“Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh, _fine._ ”

Estelle is making curry and rolls some potatoes and an onion at Rita. Rita takes the potato and begins dicing it.

“Your knife skills are better than they used to be.”

“Raven gave me some pointers,” Rita answers automatically. Raven had stood behind her and helped her hold the knife. She blushes at the memory and the other, more explicit ones it leads to, and curses her traitorous hormones. Estelle doesn't respond for a moment, and Rita holds her breath. She chops two entire potatoes before Estelle breaks the silence.

“...Rita?”

She puts the knife down and looks at Estelle, who continues, “How long has Raven been staying with you?”

“A month?” She tries to sound casual. It’s been exactly thirty-two days, and one of those had been spent having desperate, bad-idea sex.

“Karol told us about the blastia,” Estelle continues, “but Raven's okay now, right?”

Rita nods, “I wanted to monitor everything for a few days, but yeah.” The elephant in the room is _why_ Raven was still there.

Estelle looks at her again and there's a pause. Rita chops another potato to busy herself. “Rita,” Estelle tries again, all diplomacy, “is there... something going on between--?”

“ _No_.” A blatant lie, although Rita doesn't know what the truth is.

“Yuri told us about walking in on _something_. Rita--”

“Did you guys have a fucking meeting to discuss my sex life?” Rita feels her blood pressure rising and blurts the words before she realizes they verify what Estelle suspects.

The crease between Estelle's brows confirms that she puts the situation together. “...We’re just worried.”

“About what, Estelle? Are you worried that I’m being take advantage of?” Now she feels insulted on Raven’s behalf; the whole ridiculous encounter had been initiated by _her._

Estelle takes a step towards Rita and holds up her hands, “Not necessarily, Rita, but have you considered that Raven might actually have romantic feelings for you?”

That stops Rita in her tracks; she hadn't considered that Raven might be _genuinely_ interested in her. Sex was one thing--it happened, and it didn't _have_ to mean anything. “I don't want to have this conversation.” She places the knife back on the cutting board and turns away from Estelle, “I’m leaving.”

Rita doesn't eat dinner and pulls an all-nighter in the workshop.

* * *

“Old man!”

The front door is flung open with such force that it cracks against the wall. Raven drops the pot he'd been washing into the sink and freezes, hands up to the wrist in soapy water. He can just see Rita out of his periphery as she whirls into the tiny kitchen like a tornado.

“Are you in love with me?”

Raven flinches; it’s more accusation than question, and he braces himself for a pummeling. The floor swallowing him up would be a good solution. Maybe Rita is like one of those apex predators that can't see their prey if it remains still. The fantasy is short-lived, though; Rita grabs his sleeve and pulls until he is facing her. His soapy hands drip water onto the counter and then the floor. Raven presses wet palms against the thighs of his pants. Rita's chest is heaving, and her eyes are boring holes into him. He still hasn't responded, and the first tinges of panic claw at him. This is not how he planned to have this conversation.

“Why didn't you tell me?” Rita speaks again before he can come up with any suitable response. Her hand is curled into a fist at her side, and she's practically vibrating in anger.

_Well, Rita darlin’--_

The mask slips into place with no effort, the flirting on the tip of his tongue. Rita would probably break his nose, but it would stop this conversation.

“ _Why?”_ Rita repeats, twisting the fabric on his coat sleeve.

“I--” he starts, knows he needs to say something, but not what, “I thought it might be better not to talk about.”

“So you were going to let everyone talk about it behind my back instead!?” Rita lets go of his sleeve with enough force that his arm smacks against the counter.

“Everyone?”

Her cheeks are red, and Raven tries to discern if it's anger or embarrassment. She crosses her arms and paces the short length of the kitchen. “They’re worried I'm being taken advantage of by you, the perverted old man.”

Raven leans against the counter and tries to accept the reality of the situation. His... fixation, his lust, his whatever it was on Rita was his problem. “Forget about it, please, Rita. It's not your problem.”

“Problem?!” Rita’s voice raises several decibels and overwhelms the small room, “You idiot! It became my problem when you--” she stumbles, brain working faster than her mouth, “when you didn't push me away and we--how could anyone forget _that_?

Something about saying it aloud cements the reality of it.

“I’ll go,” Raven decides, pushing himself from the counter to walk past Rita. He can't stay here anymore and never should have in the first place. It was wrong, even before, but it felt like _home_ , and he was a weak, weak man.

“That’s such a cop out.” Rita is on him in an instant, blocking the exit with her body. “You don't get to leave me here with this.” Her hand presses against his chest, left of the blastia, and he leans into the contact even as he feels disgusted with himself.

“It was a mistake.”

There. It was a simple fact.

Obvious hurt crosses Rita's face, and Raven waits for her fist to make contact with his nose. Instead, the pressure of her hand on his chest increases.

“I’m _twice your age_ ,” he tries again. The reasons are manifold. “It’s not right. No one will understand. _Please_.”

Her expression shifts to anger, her first defense, and it reinforces his decision. Rita is young, brash. She would act on her feelings with no regard for the consequences.

“Fuck you. You're a bigger idiot than I assumed if you think--” Rita stops and drops her hand. Raven eyes slide shut. “You know what, _I’m_ leaving.” Rita turns on her heel and stomps right back out her front door.

* * *

 

Rita isn't sure how much time passes. It's _her_ house, after all, regardless of how many freeloading old men she lets live in her spare room, so she has to go home eventually. She sits at the harbor for a long time, staring, eyes unfocused, at the passing boats. What the hell should she say to Raven when she gets back? She thinks about what Estelle told her, and Raven's own words before she stormed out. _It was a mistake_. She isn't too surprised when she feels tears run down her cheeks, although if anyone asked she would staunchly blame the wind. Hearing Raven's regret cut deep, even if she understood his perspective. She wipes at her cheeks with her sleeves.

Still though, Raven actually had romantic feelings for her? A crush she could see, or even just physical attraction, especially after what happened in her lab. They had spent the last month in almost constant physical proximity, some of it pretty intimate. This was _more_ though.

Eventually, Rita stands up and wipes her cheeks; it’s time to go home.

* * *

The setting sun paints her house orange by the time she gets back. Her front door wiggles in the frame when she opens it, and there's a dent on the wall from the force of the doorknob. Maybe she could weekend warrior repair those? There’s a sense of dread as Rita kicks off her shoes and moves into her living room. Raven is asleep at the table, head pillowed on his arms. The second thing Rita notices, even in the dusk light, is how _clean_ the kitchen is. All the dishes are done, and there's no dust anywhere. There’s a dust rag a few inches from Raven’s elbow.

He cleaned her kitchen after she stormed out?

Rita has a bag of meat buns as a peace offering and places them on the table. She kneels down beside Raven and notices for the first time how _tired_ he looks. There’s dark smudges under his eyes; Rita forgets his age sometimes. The meat buns are going to get cold and ruin her olive branch, but Rita is content to look at Raven passed out at her table for a few more minutes. She's compelled to touch him, so she does, choosing to run a hand over his hair. Most of it has come loose from the tie that holds it back, and it’s frizzy from the humid air.

Of course, the contact wakes him up.

Rita jerks her hand back and stuffs it in her pocket. Raven blinks a few times, disoriented, and Rita finds it endearing, even through her distress.

“Rita?” Raven sits up, wincing a bit as he twists his neck. There’s a sleeve imprint on his cheek.

“Old man,” she gestures to the bag on the table, “I brought some of those meat buns you like.”

“Thanks,” he replies but doesn't move to open the bag.

Rita frames his face with her hands and forces Raven to look at her; his perpetual stubble tickles her palms. “It hurt me when you said what happened was a mistake.” There, some emotional honesty. Raven freezes, and Rita tightens her grip. “You don’t need to protect me. I’ve done everything for myself my whole life.”

“Rita--” Raven starts, and she shakes her head, cutting him off. His expression tells her the conversation will go in a circle if they have it now.

“Stay. Eat. Come find me when you figure your shit out.” Rita leans in and kisses him, pulling away before he can react. Then, she snags two meat buns and goes down to her lab.

* * *

Raven isn't sure what he’s going to say to her, but he’s got to say _something_. He sat at the kitchen table most of the night, trying to, as Rita so delicately said, “figure his shit out.”

Well, his shit wasn't figured out, and he was going to talk to her anyway.

Raven makes coffee and toast because he feels like death warmed over, and the caffeine might help. Rita requires it to reach even normal levels of function. He knocks on her bedroom door and peeks in when she doesn't answer; the bed is still made.

Downstairs, then.

It's not the first time Rita's slept in her lab, on the floor surrounded by books or at her desk. She's at the desk today, slumped over, head resting on her arms. It's a weird sense of deja vu from how she'd found him last night. _Fuck_ , he's nervous.

“Rita,” he whispers and touches her shoulder.

She snaps awake, sits up, and doesn't even wince from having slept in such a position. It highlights their age difference so starkly that he almost retreats up the stairs. He sits down across from her instead.

Rita stretches and takes the offered cup of coffee, “Have you figured your shit out?” She makes a vague gesture between them with her free hand.

Getting right to it, then.

“...No.”

 _Then why are you here?_ Raven imagines her response, but it doesn't come. Instead, Rita eats her toast.

“Okay.”

There’s an awkward pause where Raven comes to understand he's even less prepared than he realized.

“Did they really have a meeting to talk about us?”

Rita nods, “To determine if I was being victimized, yeah.”

“I think that makes the _bad idea_ factor of this pretty clear, then.”

“Why?” Rita asks, and Raven thinks she genuinely doesn't see the situation as he does.

Raven rests his chin on his hand, “You saw Yuri’s face when he broke in--it wasn't hard to figure out.”

“Who the fuck cares what _Yuri_ thinks?! Or Estelle, or any of them?” Raven doesn't think she means that, but she's definitely angry.

“You do.”

“Not if they're _idiots_.”

Raven rests his head in his hands. “If you react that way to our friends, how are you gonna handle everyone else?”

“The same way.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “They have a point,” he wants what he wants, but _still_. “You can't just do what you want all the time, Rita, you’re young, so you don't--”

 Rita's hand smacking against the table cuts him off, and one look tells him he’s made a misstep.  He should feel lucky she hit the table instead of him. “You have no problem wanting to--no problem--” she stands up and points across the room “ _right there_ , and _then_ you moralize to me about _age_?”

Raven tries to not cower away from her fury but still shrinks back in his chair, just a bit. “Just because it happened doesn’t make it--I’m trying to protect you.”

“From _who_? Yourself? Our friends? Random nosey neighbors? I already told you that you didn't need to.”

Well, one of those options was the easiest to shield her from and would mitigate the other issues. “Myself.” Raven crosses his arms, feeling both uncomfortable and guilty. “It's not what the neighbors will think, I don't care about that, either, but _you_ will. Maybe not at first, but eventually. _I_ should know better, but the longer I'm around you _,_ the more I _want_ \--”

The more he _wants_.

The fight leaves Rita, and she slumps back into her chair, “You've never asked me what _I_ want.”

“Rita--”

“You have this--this narrative of our relationship in your head, and it's fucking inaccurate.” The volume of her voice increases. “You see it as pity, or charity because no one else can fix your blastia, or worse, as me being taken advantage of because the Rita in your head doesn't know how adult relationships work. I wish you’d look at _me_ instead of relying on your stupid imaginary interpretation of things.”

Raven is silent for a long moment, and when he does speak, it's quiet. “What do you want, Rita?” She's right, he'd never asked her what she wanted, only assumed that he knew better for both of them, even if his actions showed otherwise.

Rita's still slouching in her chair, and she crosses her arms defensively, “I want you to stop being such a self-sacrificing idiot.”

“Old habits die hard.”

“Then aggressively work on killing the shit out of it, old man. This is _exhausting_.” Rita pauses, stumbles, “I-I _like_ spending time with you. I would have kicked you out of my house if I didn't. Stop thinking you're saving me; I don't need it, and I can figure out how to handle everything else.”

Rita looks as exhausted as he feels, her expression is pinched, and she's sporting her own pair of dark circles. What a fucking pair they make. She pushes herself out of her chair, though, and rounds the desk, hands on her hips. She stares for a long time, until he has the irrational thought that she's going to to challenge him to a fight.

“Rita?” His throat is suddenly dry, and he rubs his palms against the legs of his pants. The challenge in her expression excites him. Does Rita have any concept of the power she holds over him when he lets his guard down? He'd probably rip his own blastia out if she asked it of him.

“This doesn't have to be this hard,” Rita whispers. She bends down and kisses him, not touching him anywhere else. He wants to grab her and pull her to him but something stills his hands, some desire for Rita to assert herself--maybe he _needs_ her to do it in a moment of rational thought. Rita kisses him gently, coaxes it out of him; it's the complete opposite of last time, slow and methodical until Raven wrings his hands together to stop from interacting with her more. When she pulls back, she's smiling and looks down at his hands covering them with her own. She's close enough that the ends of her hair tickle his cheeks, and he tries to read her expression, enigmatic for once. He wants to speak but the words dry up in his throat.

“Old man,” she draws his attention, “are you looking at _me_ now?”

“Yes,” he replies honestly.

Rita smiles, and there's so much _promise_ in it that Raven pulls his hands out from under hers and reaches for her. She's in his lap in an instant, sideways because the chair doesn't accommodate much else. It's not comfortable, and he ignores it. Rita hugs him, slipping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Honestly, the chair could stab him in the kidney, and he wouldn't move. She's warm against him through her pajamas, and he tries to eject from his mind the way she'd felt, legs wrapped around him and fingers digging into his back.

“Please don't push me away,” Rita mumbles into his shoulder, suddenly vulnerable.

“I won't,” Raven responds, sliding his hand down her back. “When I said it was a mistake, I didn't mean because I wished we hadn't.”

“I know,” she responds but doesn't move to look at him. Raven isn't sure how to respond, so he holds her and hopes that makes up for it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rita and Raven deal with the rest of Brave Vesperia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, if you wondered why the rating is so high, here is it. 🤷

Raven stays, and Rita still checks the blastia everyday after lunch, which becomes increasingly unnecessary. He lets her keep with the routine, though. Occupying the same physical space as Raven has become routine, and Rita will miss bumping into him on the stairs or helping him cook dinner when he inevitably leaves. Occupying the same emotional space is harder, and Rita finds they have no end of uncomfortable conversations. She's afraid to ask him how long he intends to stay, and even more afraid that she keeps thinking she never wants him to leave.

“Rita,” Raven breaks the silence one evening after dinner.

She looks up from her book at him, but finds Raven looking away from her at the fireplace. There's a too long pause, and he doesn't continue. “Spit it out, old man.”

“When we,” Raven stops, searching for the best wording “...had sex, was it the first time you'd...? 

“Have you been trying to ask me this all week?” Rita counters, closing her book.

Raven still isn't looking at her when he replies, “Not  _ all _ week, but it has crossed my mind a few times.”

“...Does it matter?”

“No!” Raven says too quickly and loudly for Rita to believe him.

“...You sure?”

“Not in the way you're thinking,” Raven turns to face her on the couch, finally. “I'm more concerned that I didn't think of it in the moment.”

“That's stupid.” Rita glares, and it makes a ghost of a smile appears on Raven's face. “It not like we discussed it, and I probably would have lied if it had been.”

That seems to elicit genuine surprise. “Why?”

“To avoid a conversation like this.”

“So it wasn't, then,” Raven extrapolates, and Rita hopes the next thing he says isn't about how it should be special or something equally ridiculous.

“This conversation makes me feel young,” she admits when Raven falls into silence.

“You  _ are  _ young.”

“Too young?” Even Rita can't miss the challenge in her voice. The gap between them is glaringly obvious in some ways, and other times she forgets about it entirely.

“Probably, darlin’.” 

_ That _ stings and makes the uncertainty flare up again--she'd missed its presence over the last few days.

“I'm gettin’ past it, though.” Raven's tone shifts, and Rita recognizes his flirting; they're back on safer ground now.

“Good,” Rita replies, and the uncertainty wanes, and she places it back in its compartment in her mind. “It's not something we can change, anyway.”  _ I'm sorry that the burden is on you, though _ .

They're silent for a moment, and Rita's mind wanders to the events in the her lab. “It wasn't exactly how I'd fantasized, though.” Rita realizes what she's admitted as soon as the words leave her and hopes, vainly, that Raven has selective hearing.

He's grinning at her, so probably not. 

“Fantasized about what, now?” 

“ _ Nothing _ ,” Rita lies and glares.

“Aw, don't hold out on me! I'd love to hear what you've got rattlin’ around up there.”

Raven knows exactly what buttons to press and Rita, an idiot herself, rises to the occasion with even the slightest provocation. She's blushing horribly as Raven moves, slipping his arms around her from behind and pulling her close. Even this reminds her of other, more explicit things, and all her stupid fantasies fly through her brain.

“Some are...romantic,” she can't believe she's saying any of this. Raven hums and tightens his grip, urging her on. “Others are...less so.” 

“That's it?” Raven chuckles, and it tickles Rita's neck.

“ _ Pervert _ .” 

Raven shrugs, and Rita feels the motion against her back. “Never denied it. It’s not just me though, apparently, darlin’.” He starts below her ear and kisses his way down her neck. Rita squirms against him until he stops, resting his chin on her shoulder.

In reality, her fantasies were manifold in scope and frequency, and ran the gamut from mild to dirty enough that she's embarrassed thinking about thinking them. All of it is made worse by their sole encounter because now she  _ knew  _ how they felt together. The memory drives her crazy.

“Raven,” she starts, “it's been a week since we started sorting this out, and we haven't…”

He catches her inference, “I didn't want to seem pushy.”

“Me either.”

“Darlin’, I don't see how  _ you _ could be considered pushy.”

General sexual frustration momentarily forgotten, Rita cranes her neck to look at him in disbelief, “Have you forgotten that I started it this entire idiotic ordeal?” A wry smile is his only response, and Rita moves out of his grasp to stand up. “You look like you're thinking something stupid.”

Something stupid like  _ anything I want is automatically pushy. _

“Ya got me there.”

“Don't let stupid shit get in the way of something that makes you happy.” It feels like a bold assumption that she would make Raven happy, but she's means the statement holistically, too. Rita stares him down, in defiance of her own embarrassment, and holds out her hand, “I-I'm here, if you want me.”  _ Please say yes. _

There might be a strangled _yes_ when Raven stands up and grabs her, crushing them together, but it's lost when he kisses her and holds her so tightly he might be trying to merge them into one person. There's a hand on her waist and another in her hair. So _this_ is what it's like when Raven snaps. Rita could get drunk on the power trip from this; all she'd done was hold out her hand to him--she's awash with sensation wherever they're touching, and all she can think is _this would be so much better naked._

A need for oxygen forces them to separate. Rita feels so out of sorts that she clings to Raven, who hasn't loosened his grip an inch, and presses Rita's head against his chest, stroking her hair. He's shaking, and Rita steadies them both as best she can.

“ _ Rita _ .” She's never heard Raven, or  _ anyone _ say her name like that. The  _ longing _ staggers her, and she takes a chance and puts enough distance she can look at him. Raven's watching her, and she freezes, trying not to melt under the open desire in his expression. How had she never noticed  _ that _ look? Was he really so good at hiding what he wanted?

Yes, yes he was.

“ _ Please _ .”

If the way Raven said her name didn't do her in, the polite request uttered so desperately does. “Anything,” she replies, kissing him, pushing herself onto her tiptoes to get closer. She knows when to tilt her head so their noses don't smash together, and that Raven won't mind if she grabs onto his hair where it's tied back. She’s suddenly desperate for  _ everything _ , every action and reaction they've been ignoring like idiots. Rita spares a thought for how  _ good _ the last week could have been and tries to focus on the present. 

“You’ve been holding out on me,” Rita takes a shuddering breath and moves her hands, touching this jaw.

“I’ll make it up to you.” Raven smiles, sliding his hands down to grip her hips. She loses track of time after that, tilts her head to let Raven press kisses along the neckline of tank top. Her own hands have stilled, resting on his back. 

Eventually, Raven whispers her name in her ear and startles her. When their eyes meet, he looks more composed, and Rita almost misses the frenzied look from before. “As lovely as this is, I don't want to make out in your living room all evenin’.”

“Pick a place, then.”

Raven raises an eyebrow at her, “Anywhere?” 

Different locations from her daydreams cycle through her mind. “It's  _ my _ house, I can do  _ whatever _ I want,  _ wherever _ I want.”

“You're not afraid Yuri’s gonna pick your locks again?”

“If he does he again, he can get a damn  _ show _ for all I care.” The thought of that is actually pretty horrific, but Rita glares enough to keep the pretense of not caring. Raven laughs and it starts a warm, bubbly feeling in her chest. He smooths out the crease between her eyebrows with a kiss.

“I'd say 'your room or mine,’ but they’re both technically yours.”

Rita’s scowl vanishes, and she laughs. “Mine, then.” She puts both hands on his chest and pushes him toward her bedroom door. Thankfully, he doesn't trip over an errant stack of books on the way there. Rita flips on her bedside lamp and points to the bed.

“Sit.”

Raven obeys, sitting on the bed and leaning back on his hands, watching her all the while. Rita stands in front of him and doesn't object when he slides his hands under her tank top, pulling it up until her arms stop it.

“Darlin’, “lift your arms.”

The tank top is gone in an instant, and Rita shivers, bare to the air of the room. She's within Raven's reach, so he does the obvious thing and touches her. She shifts away when he tickles her side but leans it when a kiss is pressed to her abdomen. Raven moves as he pleases, and Rita tangles a hand into his shirt when he drags his teeth over her nipple. She curses, and Raven chuckles against her skin and repeats the gesture. When her legs start to feel wobbly, she crawls into Raven's lap.

Raven's hand still on the small of her back, like he can't decide whether to push her away or pull them closer together. Rita makes the decision for him, pressing them together and smiling when Raven groans. She works at his shirt until she can drag it over his head.

She's more tentative than Raven had been, dragging her fingers over his skin until she reaches the blastia casing. He doesn't jump when she touches it, tracing the edge of it where it meets the skin. A month ago, he'd have to stop himself from flinching, and Rita feels proud of the level of intimacy she's earned. Raven's eyes slide shut until she grinds against him, feeling the outline of his cock through the layers of clothing between them. She moves again and grins, triumphant, when he sighs her name.

The friction is pleasant in it's own way, but there’s  _ more _ and Rita  _ wants _ . She stands, and Raven looks bereft for the second it takes her to pull down her shorts and underwear in one motion. Then, he looks her up and down, and his expression shifts. Despite what has transpired, he's never seen her naked before. 

“C-come here,” his tone is a heady combination of commanding and unsure. Rita obeys without complaint, kneeling in front of him and resting her hands on his thighs. She slides them up, cautiously, trying to gauge his reaction. Her fingers ghost over him, and he inhales sharply. She moves to the waistband of his pants; he meets her there and tries to help, but fumbles. Rita huffs in irritation and bats his hands away.

“It'd be faster to set them on fire.”

Raven chuckles, “Maybe next time.” He's joking, but Rita is surprised at the pang of arousal the promise of  _ next time _ causes. 

When they're both naked, Rita feels vulnerable, suddenly, and reaches for him. Raven reads her expression and envelopes her in a hug; it'd almost be platonic if not for the total lack of clothes. The hug comforts her and adds kindling to the fire simultaneously.

Raven spins them and sits Rita on the edge of the bed. She looks up at him, confused, until he kneels in front of her and guides her knees apart.

“W-what are you--?”

His grin is practically predatory, “Makin’ it up to you.”

“You-you don't have to--” she starts, but goes willingly when Raven pushes her onto her back. She goes one step further on her own, putting her feet up on the bed.

“Darlin, your behavior says you'd like if I did.” He stands for a moment and loom over her, still grinning. Embarrassment rushes through her, and she tries to close her knees only to be stopped by his hands. The first touch is a mere slide of his fingers against her entrance. She jumps, and he blocks her again. The last thing she sees when he kneels between her thighs is his stupid, cocky grin, and she vows to get him back.

The thoughts of revenge scatter, though, after the first touch. She pushes herself up on her elbows at first but Raven does _ something _ , and she loses her faculties and flops back on the bed. Raven grabs her knee to hold her in place at one point, and she grabs handfuls of comforter. He slides two fingers into her, and she comes, a distant part of her mind hopes no neighbors can hear the  _ noise _ that leaves her.

When she opens her eyes, Raven is next to her on the bed, leaning on his arm and grinning at her.

“You _ bastard _ ,” she feels too boneless to sit up, so she settles for glaring.

“Did that make up for it?” He leans down and kisses her, chaste by comparison.

“It-it--no one has  _ ever _ . I’ll get you back for that.” 

Raven laughs and lays down next to her. Rita turns on her side, reaching between them to circle her fingers around his erection and stroke upward. He reacts and reaches out to tickle his fingers down her side.

“Rita,” he gasps, “ _ please _ .” Rita's first instinct is to tease him, to draw it out, but she wants him so acutely that she can't bring herself to carry it out. 

“I'm on top,” she commands, and Raven doesn't object, just moves until he's resting against the decorative pillows Estelle picked out. They were superfluous, and Rita is happy to put them to some use. She follows him, puts her hands on either side of Raven's head and straddles him again. Rita lands her hips in just the right spot, sitting up. As they slide together, Raven looks like it's killing him, and he clutches her arms.

“R-ready?” She hates that her voice wavers.

“Always.” For some reason that, and Raven's hand on her waist, guiding her, eases her nerves

Then, finally,  _ finally _ , she reaches between them, adjusting positions, and it's a simple movement downward. She's still for a second, searching Raven's expression. Then she moves, a uneven rhythm at first, and she wonders if she overestimated her own coordination. Raven helps her, though, until she establishes the pacing. He watches her intensely, and she has to close her eyes, which means she's not looking when he reaches down and touches her.

“You're trying to kill me,” she gasps and leans over him, using her elbows to hold herself up. 

“You wound me.” Raven kisses her, slow and deliberate, and Rita's pacing falters until she can't keep it up. 

“ _ Enough _ .” She grabs Raven's wrists, pinning them to the pillows. His eyes widen in surprise and there's definitely a quip on the tip of his tongue. Rita wants to shut him up, so she moves until Raven forgets what he's going to say. Her power over the situation goes to her head, and she rocks against him until he moves in her grip, once. Rita, realizing how tightly she's holding his wrists, almost lets go.

She halts, blushing, S-sorry, I--”

“I don’t mind,” Raven admits, whispers even though there's no one there to hear him. He looks embarrassed, and she leans down to kiss him. 

“Tell me if you do,” she whispers into his hair and resumes her pace until she comes again, collapsing against Raven. She let's go of his wrists, and buries her face into his shoulder. 

“I’m up for anything.” A confession, whispered into her ear. With his newly-freed arms, he hugs her until she's flush against him.

_ That _ does shit to her, and there's all her dirty fantasies again. “Don't let me abuse the privilege.”

Raven laughs and slides a hand down her sweat-damp back. “My turn,” he states, eventually, and flips Rita onto her back without breaking the contact.

“Impressive,” Rita says once they've untangled themselves. 

“At least I've still got something.”

She laughs and bends her legs at the knee to give Raven more room. He moves, a faster place than she'd managed, and Rita bites down on his shoulder to shut herself up. 

“Good, darlin’?” He's dug up some composure somewhere, to be able to ask her that so casually. Rita looks at the bite marks she left on his shoulder and manages a glare, even as he drives into her.

“I  _ hate _ you,” she curses him, wraps her legs around him, and when he comes he collapses against her.

* * *

It's a moment before Raven realizes he's probably heavy and uses his arms to hold himself up, dispersing his weight. Logic tells him to move off of her but the selfish part of him wants the contact to linger. Rita is flushed, whether from exertion, or embarrassment, or both. She reaches up and runs her fingers through her hair, an attempt to impose order on the damp strands.

She huffs in frustration and gives up.

“Rita, darlin’, I don't think there's much point to that. You look fine to me, anyway.”

The extra redness is definitely embarrassment, but she doesn't argue with him. “Fine” doesn't begin to cover it, anyway; Rita beneath him is  _ stunning _ , even more so because he contributed to it. His current view is almost as compelling as the look she'd given him when she'd pinned his wrists to the pillows.

She hasn't told him to move, and he decides to savor her until she does.

“That was  _ nothing _ like the last time.” The scowl is gone, and now Rita is smiling up at him.

“Better,” he agrees, even though it's another understatement.

“ _ Fucking fantastic _ ,” she corrects. “Don't sell us short.”

Raven laughs hard enough that he collapses back on top of her, and Rita lets out an  _ oompf _ . He slips to the side settling beside her, and Rita turns to face him. She kisses him, and Raven ponders how easy it would be to start all over. Rita must have similar thoughts because slides her knee between his legs and frames his face with her hands.

“What have you done to me?” Rita asks eventually, reaching up to flick him in the forehead.

It doesn't hurt, but Raven lets out a dramatic yowl and rubs at the spot. “What do you mean?”

“I'm not usually like  _ this _ ,” Rita makes a vague gesture with her hand. “Can we do it again?”

Raven laughs and pulls Rita the short distance between them. “I think we can work something out.”

* * *

Raven is making hash browns when Rita stumbles into the kitchen and flops down at the kitchen table. He hears her pour a mug of coffee and start adding sugar to it.

“I've never been so happy to be  _ clean _ .”

A lewd comment is on the tip of Raven's tongue and he can't decide if he can get away with it yet. “This comin’ from the person who Judy and Estelle used to have to drag to the bath.”

“That's different!” Raven starts laughing before Rita even finishes. “There were more important things to focus on.”

Rita is resting her head on her arms when he delivers breakfast to the table. The smell wakes her up, and she attacks a hash brown voraciously. A knock on the door interrupts them. Rita tenses in her chair; undoubtedly, the last time someone visited them is flashing through her mind.

“I'll get it,” Raven offers because  _ he _ won't be tempted to light whoever it is on fire when he opens the door. It's just a courier, who he thanks as he takes the envelope, then returns to the table and opens it.

“It's from Karol.”

Rita scowls and stabs at an egg aggressively with her fork. “What does he want?”

She looks so surly that Raven starts chuckling again, which makes Rita glare harder. “He wants us to go to Dahngrest.” He pushes the note across to Rita, who grabs it.

“It's addressed to both of us.”

“I noticed that, too.”

Rita stares at the note like it offends her, “Meaning he assumes you're still here.” There's a lot more to that statement than just Rita's words. “I don't want to go,” she adds after a pause.

“It's work, though.”

“I don't care.” Rita's disgruntledness happens in stages--she's leaning back in the chair, crossing her arms.

Raven sighs louder than he means to. “We can't avoid them forever, darlin’.” It's unusual for her to dance around an issue this actively; they hadn't been in contact with anyone since she'd returned from Dahngrest last time.

“...I know.”

Raven takes a few bites of food before responding, “We should just tell them.” Days ago, he wouldn't have been so calm about it but something tells him that Rita  _ needs _ him to be resilient. Her scowl is replaced by shock, and Raven shrugs. “Isn't the truth better than whatever they're comin’ up without all the info?”

Rita considers it, “...Yes. I yelled at Estelle, though. She implied you might not have good intentions.”

“I'm not sure I do, depending on a person's definition of 'good’.”

“Don't let them insult you!”

She's offended for him, and it warms his heart to hear Rita stand up for him. Rita is still glaring, and Raven holds up his hands in surrender. “Regardless of how we feel, people are going to think what Estelle thought, or worse.”

“But that's  _ stupid _ .”

Raven lowers his hands to sip more coffee. Rita is fuming, and the only thing he can think to do is bear the burden of public opinion for her. But, in spite of that… 

“A secret makes it feel…” illicit, inappropriate.  _ Even if you own it, don't act like it isn't _ . 

“...Wrong,” Rita supplies when Raven can't choose the right word. Their friends will come around, but beyond that…

“Yeah.”

Then, Rita's demeanor changes, and she's smiling, determined. “Then we're going. There's work to do, and they'll get over it.”

* * *

As unflappable as she tries to appear, Rita cares about her friends’ opinions a great deal. There's an anxiousness that won't leave her as the days pass until the trip to Dahngrest. She rehearses a conversation with Estelle over in her head until she's nothing but irritated with herself. Raven will try and shield her from both their friends’ opinions and anyone else who dared to say anything. It's admirable of him, but it's a shade of all his other self-sacrificing traits, and it makes her want to punch him. In the intervening days, Raven tries to keep her distracted, which is easy enough to do. She tries something in her lab and creates a small explosion. Raven laughs until there's tears in his eyes before helping clean. The day arrives, though, and when Ba'ul lands the Fiertia in an open space outside town, Raven squeezes her hand.

“Hey-o!” Judith calls out over the railing, and Rita waves. She loosens her grip on Raven's hand in case he wants to let go. He doesn't, and Rita hopes Judith is high enough above them not to notice that she's blushing.

On the deck, Judith smiles at them in that oblique, yet knowing way of hers, leaning her hip against one of the many crates piled around.

“Yuri mentioned I'd probably pick you kids up together.” Judith walks over to them both, clapping Raven on the shoulder hard enough that he winces and ruffling Rita's hair. She tries to push it out of her face, but the wind as Ba'ul takes off makes it futile.

“ _ Kids _ \--” Raven starts, but Judith only winks dramatically and walks away. 

Rita's never quick-witted enough to keep pace with Judith, so she watches in silence as Judith walks across the the deck away from them. She's about to comment on how  _ weird _ that whole thing was when Karol emerges from the main cabin of the ship.

“Hey, kid!” Raven calls, getting Karol's attention, “are you taller than last time?”

“No! It's been like two weeks, how could I possibly be taller?” Karol makes a show of being irritated but his fondness for the teasing shows through. Rita definitely understands.

They chat, catching up, until Judith calls from across the deck that she needs someone almost as strong as she is to move supplies. Raven makes a face but moves to go help her.

“Fine!” he calls back to her, “Old man to the rescue.” 

Instinctively, Rita grabs Raven's sleeve as he walks away. “Be careful about the blastia; don't overdo it.” 

Raven gives her a mock salute, “Yes ma'am.”

When Raven's out of earshot, Karol steps closer, and Rita immediately feels tense. Here it comes, and not from the person she's expecting.

“Rita.”

“Yes?” She takes a deep breath and tries not the sound preemptively irritated. Who was  _ Karol _ to admonish her?

Karol shifts from one foot to the other and looks past her to Raven. “I know this is gonna sound weird, but take good care of Raven.”

“Excuse me?” Her tone is defensive, and Karol tenses but doesn't back down. “S-sorry,” she stammers a second later, “I didn't mean to sound so...yeah.” 

Surprisingly, Karol laughs, and it diffuses the tension. “He’s not as tough as he tries to be.” He's still watching Raven banter with Judith over moving the boxes. “I think he's always waiting for the other shoe to drop, and it makes him lonely.” Karol probably knew Raven better than anyone. 

“You guys meeting behind his back probably didn't help.” She's pleased with herself that she sounds completely neutral. 

“I wasn't trying to--”

“I know,” Rita holds up her hand, cutting Karol off, “He knows, too.”

“...Okay.”

“He hides all this shit behind  _ a lot _ of bravado.”

“So much, yes.” Karol smiles, “He needs someone to slap some sense into him, occasionally.”

Rita grins, “ _ That _ I can do.”

* * *

Estelle, last to arrive, hugs Rita immediately. Her grip is strong, and Rita returns the gesture, any lingering anger forgotten.

“I-I'm sorry for yelling at you,” she whispers into Estelle's hair.

“I’m sorry, too” Estelle returns, releasing Rita and holding her shoulders at arm length. “We were concerned, but we handled it badly.”

“You meant well,” and, with the exception of maybe Yuri, Rita genuinely believes it. “I was mad because you didn't just  _ ask _ us what was going on, but it's in the past.”

Estelle grins, secretive and conspiring, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Find me a drink, and maybe.”

* * *

They’ve been there minutes when Yuri corners him. Raven can tell from his expression exactly what the conversation is going to be about. He braces himself and tries to muster the best poker face he can. It's just Yuri; he could best Yuri in a fight. 

Probably.

The mental image of fighting Yuri over Rita is amusing enough that Raven feels calmer when Yuri leans against the wall next to him.

“You and Rita.”

“Glad ya can identify us by sight,” he shouldn't jest, but it's an easy defense mechanism and presses Yuri's buttons immediately.

“You know what I’m talking about, old man.” The annoyance in Yuri’s voice is clear.

“I do.”

Yuri makes a frustrated noise, “You’re not even going to defend yourself?”

“Is there a point?” Raven stuffs his hands in his coat pockets and looks at Yuri. “You’ve already made your opinion clear.”

“She’s  _ nineteen _ .” Yuri emphasizes the number.

“You think I don't know that?” Rita's contrariness is rubbing off on him. He nearly asks Yuri if he's Rita's guardian, but a sliver of self-preservation stops him; the fallout won't be worth the momentary satisfaction.

“Then  _ why _ ?”

“It's none of your business.” There's a million reasons why, and he's not saying any of them; Yuri simply doesn't need to know.

“It is when it's Rita. She my friend, too.”

Raven's not the only one who cares about Rita, and he tries to remember that perspective before he replies. “Rita...doesn't react well to over-protecting, even though you may mean well.”

“...I can imagine.” There's a hint of a smirk on his face. Yuri's probably imagining fire balls and yelling and maybe a fist in the face, all of which are viable responses.

“Not that you need to know, but I raised every objection to her, some more than once. Some of them  _ I'm _ still convinced by.”

“And yet?”

Raven nods, “Have you tried stopping her when she wants something?”

Yuri expression shifts to surprise, “Judy was right.” Raven raises an eyebrow, and Yuri elaborates, “She guessed that if anything  _ was _ happening, it'd be Rita's idea.”

“It never would've happened otherwise.”

Yuri's expression is unreadable, and they’re silent for a moment, staring out at the room. He watches Rita; she’s looking over some schematics with Karol. She must have some preternatural sense because she turns around and notices him; her eyes move between Raven and Yuri. Surprisingly, she doesn't yell _tell him to fuck off_ across the room. Raven smiles at her and waves, mostly to stop her from marching over to them. When Rita smiles back, though, Raven suddenly cares a lot less about convincing Yuri or anyone else.

Rita turns away from them, and Yuri stares at her back for a long moment. “I didn't even know Rita could  _ make _ that expression.”

Raven replies, “She probably wants to come over here and tell you where to go and how to get there.” He tries to deflect the conversation from the way he feels , both at Rita's smile, and the fact that she would dash across the room to his defense.

“...I didn't mean her glare.” No,  _ that _ was pretty standard Rita.

“I know.” Now, Raven's smiling. 

He must look dopey because Yuri notices. “Shit, you've got it bad, haven't you?” 

_ Love. _ Raven says it in his head, repeats it until he's comfortable with it. The concept had been settling in his mind for weeks, anyway, ever since Rita had accused him of the feeling.

“Yeah, definitely,” he tells Yuri instead. 

“I still don't think--”

Raven holds up a hand cutting Yuri off, “I'm not going to debate it with you.” He looks across the room at Rita again--just this once, he wants _something_ to keep for himself.

Yuri crosses his arms, “This is gonna take a while to get used to.”

* * *

Work gives way to an impromptu reunion of sorts, and eventually, Judith manifests some liquor bottles, and they order food and sit in mismatched chairs around the table.

“Move the important stuff first,” Karol chides, and Estelle and Raven help him clear the table of paperwork.

Rita drinks and plays cards with Karol and Estelle. Karol wins every round, and Rita laughs as Estelle becomes more and more disgruntled at her losing streak. Later, there's pie, and Rita shares a piece with Raven, and if Yuri watches them too intently, she doesn't notice or care.

She slips off to the room she uses as a makeshift lab late in the evening. Karol is asleep on Judith's shoulder, and she presses a finger to her lips as Rita passes. Rita adds it to her list of things to tease him about.

There's nothing pressing in the lab; she just wants a moment to herself. She's updating a supply ledger, hopefully with some accuracy even after a drink or two, when Raven knocks on the doorframe. Rita spins around at the sound as Raven enters the room.

“How're you holdin’ up?”

“I'm...good, actually,” Rita responds, “I think I was freaking myself out.”

“ _ You _ weren't grilled by Yuri.” Raven leans against the table next to Rita. She almost tells him about her conversation with Karol but decides it's better kept a secret.

“I saw. Do I need to set Yuri on fire?”

“No,” Raven waves his hands for emphasis, “but he's not convinced yet.”

Rita shrugs. “He doesn't need to be.”

“He might come around.”

A thought occurs to Rita, and she gives voice to it without thinking. “Are you going to...stay here? When work's done, I mean?” Brave Vesperia's headquarters always seemed like Raven's home, if anywhere did.

“Are ya kickin’ the old bum out of your guestroom?” Raven grins, but it's forced, meant to conceal.

“ _ No _ !” Rita stands and knocks her clipboard onto the floor with a loud clunk in her haste. “I-I wanted to ask you to stay. With me, I mean. When you're not busy, if you wanted to.” Shit, she's babbling. “But I thought maybe that wasn't clear, since you usually stay here--”

Raven places a finger on her lips to shush her. “I'll stay until ya kick me to the door.”

The smile that replaces the forced one makes Rita's heart race in a way that has nothing to do with lust. All she can think is  _ oh no _ .

* * *

Rita doesn't realize how much she misses her house until she opens the front door after being gone for over a week. She even looks fondly at the dent on the wall from where she'd slammed the door. Raven trails behind her, closing the door and locking it. She tosses her bag down into a corner and turns to look at Raven.

“It's good to be back. I'd kinda forgotten why I wanted my own space in the first place.”

“To get away from idiots?”

“All except one, apparently.”

Rita wakes up in the morning with Raven's head pressed between her shoulder blades. She tries to recall if he's ever come to her bed just to sleep. He'd stayed after  _ other _ things, of course, but this might be a first. His hair tickles her, and somehow he's taken her pillow, but she doesn't mind. She dozes for a while longer, content.

Eventually, Rita gets up, dresses, and goes to the kitchen, deciding to leave Raven sleeping. Coffee comes first; at least she can brew that competently. Her cooking is barely passable, but she can probably manage eggs. Even though she'd only lived here a couple months, the kitchen already holds memories for her--most of them involving Raven. She thinks of him as she cracks eggs and whisks milk into them; he’d hover behind her and make suggestions or show her how to do things. 

Rita’s engrossed in the implications of all these small events and doesn't notice Raven enter the kitchen.

“Mornin’.”

She turns her head and looks over her shoulder at Raven; he's leaning on the doorframe, arms crossed. He looks like he  _ belongs _ there, and there's that tug on Rita's heart again. She's starting to put a name to the feeling but even a whisper of it paralyzes her.

“Good morning.” Rita turns back to the eggs, afraid that Raven will divine everything from her expression, although she's unsure why she wants to hide it.

“Want some help?” His chin is on her shoulder before she realizes he's crossed the room. The familiarity of the gesture, the ease in which it happens...

“Toast,” she manages to reply, and Raven turns from her to get the appliance out; he knows exactly where everything is.

She cooks the eggs in silence, and, soon, they're seated across from each other at the table. The coffee is strong enough to punch Rita awake and clear her head.

The eggs are too dry; Raven doesn't mention it and for some reason,  _ that's  _ what does her in. Then she's fucking  _ crying _ and decides to stare into her coffee, hoping Raven won't notice.

_ Love. _

Raven doesn't notice for a moment, but eventually she hears him say her name. Rita looks up, wipes her cheeks. To Raven’s credit, he doesn't panic when he realizes what's happening. Her tears are a rare occurrence; she's only cried in front of him once. Raven looks at her, expression placid, and reaches across the table to take her hand; this is probably how he'd approach a wild animal.

“Wanna talk about it?”

_ Yes, _ she thinks,  _ but how _ .

“You’re eating my shitty eggs,” she tries, wiping at her cheeks again with her unoccupied hand. “They're terrible, and you didn't even tease me over it.”

He smiles. “Well, it's too early in the mornin’ to be set on fire. And they're not  _ that _ terrible, really.”

Rita wipes her eyes again. “I thought that I wanted a house to be alone in, but then  _ you _ showed up.”

“Never underestimate a freeloader.”

Then, she's laughing, too. “It started out proper enough; your blastia really  _ did _ need monitored,  but then it sort of…” she pauses, “...escalated.”

“Just don't go takin’ in every stray old man, darlin’, or I might get jealous.” The look on Raven's face makes her stomach drop again; he squeezes her hand.

Rita gulps and decides to take the plunge. “You love me?” She'd asked, accused him, really, once before, but this time she feels ready for his answer.

His eyes widen, just a bit, but he answers her without missing a beat, “You already know I do.”

Rita takes her hand back and crosses her arms. “Say it for yourself.”

She sounds so petulant, but Raven’s just smiles and replies, “I love you.”

Her blush is spectacular and a warm happiness rushes through her. Raven is still smiling, but there's uncertainty beneath it that he's trying to quell. She gets closer to alleviating it but never manages to banish it completely.

“It-it’s not a complete mystery! Surely, even an idiot like you can  _ tell _ that I--”

Raven rests his chin on his hand like he’s settling in for a long story. Rita tried to  _ show _ him her feelings through actions but maybe it wasn't as obvious to him; she feels overwhelmed, like her feelings are pouring out over everything. The feeling of actually  _ hearing _ the words.

“I-I think that I might also, you know,  _ love. _ You, I mean.”  There, she'd said it, sort of. She imagined it like giving something away that she couldn't get back, but it's not like that at all.

Raven kisses her and doesn't even walk around the table to do it. The chair scrapes against the wood as he pushes it back, and then he's reaching across the table. He touches her cheek first and then slides his hand into her hair before pressing their lips together. Rita’s dizzy from the contact and presses her hands to the table to steady herself.

“Has anyone ever said you're too good at that?” She pokes his cheek and pushes errant pieces of his hair off his face.

Raven’s cheeks color the slightest bit.  “Well,  _ someone _ has demanded a lot of practice recently, soooo--”

Rita doesn't hit him and kisses him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you sooooooo much for reading! It's nice to know a few other people like this pairing.


End file.
